


Essence

by TrisB



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Gen, Hogwarts Resistance, Wartime, Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-15
Updated: 2007-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:16:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrisB/pseuds/TrisB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, he has considered, all those years of being frightened of everything were just practice for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Essence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lizzen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzen/gifts).



One of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire still smells strongly of essence of murtlap; Neville thinks Lee Jordan is the one who spilled his whole supply on the seat and instead of cleaning it up just hid the mess under a pillow, but he can't remember anymore. The sickly astringent scent used to be bothersome, and is now just part of the room's décor; he hasn't consciously noticed it since Luna, in her first visit to Gryffindor Tower, complimented him on what she thought was his cologne.

"Ah, thanks," he'd surprised himself by saying, "it's also quite good for soothing magically-inflicted cuts."

She didn't even ask, just nodded and replied, "And if it carries with it the spirit of healing, you shouldn't feel at all ashamed of smelling like gone-off acne potion. I myself favour blended gillyweed as a hair treatment, and though it may cause tangles, I hardly think that's reason enough to abandon the cause of fire retardation, wouldn't you agree?"

Neville had learned to not pursue these tangents, which as often as not resulted in actual interesting information buried beneath Luna's ineffable oddities, but tended to derail planning meetings awfully. "Very much so," he said with a firm nod, and wasted no more time in his proposal to grind Nosebleed Nougat into Snape's toothpaste — juvenile, certainly, but Colin's discovery of a way into the staff quarters should not go unused.

Luna is gone now, however, and Ginny as well, leaving the student resistance solely under Neville's direction. Worries about his collaborators joined those he keeps for Gran; for the safety of St. Mungo's residents; for Harry, Ron, and Hermione; for Dean; for the brown-eyed Hufflepuff girl who'd started coming to meetings just before Easter break and didn't return to Hogwarts afterward — nobody he talked to could confirm her blood status, so news about her fate will have to wait like everyone else's, _Potterwatch_ being barely more than a placebo at this point. The dull buzz of terror coursing through him with constancy occasionally gives way to full-on gasping fits, and has left him with scratched knuckles unresponsive to murtlap, because he had done it to himself in the moments when he stopped paying attention to what his hands were doing. And yet it isn't like the anxiety that had made him nervous and obtuse as a child: this fear jolts him to action, keeps him awake, keeps his memory sharp and his mind whirring. Maybe, he has considered, all those years of being frightened of everything were just practice for now. And maybe, he chants in the night when the rush won't stop, now is practice for later. It shouldn't be comforting and that doesn't stop it in any way from being so, like Trevor's ashes in a pencil case, bizarre talisman sitting boldly beside his bed. Neville has other things to worry about, so he does.

The Carrows have gifted him this evening with a sore jaw and an extraordinarily painful welt on his shoulder blade; in general he's begun to let these wounds go, but the one on his back could be bad news. Alone in the common room, he sets up a double-mirror system to examine the damage to his back. The wound is a bloody zig-zagging line, perfect to try out the distillation of a penelopos plant hybrid he's been breeding to repair more extensive damage, and between his mirror and his wand's unerring aim in application, a temporary seam on his skin is soon forming. His reversed and gaunt face, searching in the mirror, is unremarkable in its change: his father's face might once have been round and innocent also, but war leaves familiar tracks. If he ever sees Harry and the others again, he expects their faces will look different now, too.


End file.
